I went to my first céilidh (pronounced kay-lee) in Aberdeen last December at The Marcliffe Hotel (which, to me personally, was a disaster, since I wore a long ball gown that sweeps the floor, very glamorous for waltz but not suitable for Scottish dance which involves lots of bounces and skips and takes so much energy, so instead of focusing on the dance, I was busy trying to keep my gown off of floors so no one incidentally stepped on it), and there is another one coming at the Hilton Treetops Hotel in February. Ms. Young from Outpost Aberdeen sent out an email informing this upcoming event, as quoted:

A céilidh (gaelic word) was traditionally a gathering organized in someone’s home during the dark winter nights in the Highlands and Islands. Within every community would be a storyteller and musicians, and they would perform impromptu at one of these gatherings. If space permitted there would also be dancing, but this was not quite so common. The 20th century saw the rise of the ‘village hall’ and there was a shift from private homes to this communal facility. Greater space enabled more dancing and today the word ‘ceilidh’ has come to me an evening of Scottish country dancing.

What do we do beside dancing (and drinking whisky?). Eating, of course. I have mentioned about haggis (see picture on the left) on my Burns Supper post, and there is another Scottish dish called stovies, a simple dish which consists of potatoes, onions and beef (usually left over from the Sunday roast). They are cooked together until the potatoes break down, so that they resemble mashed potatoes. Stovies are eaten with oatcakes and beetroot and served with a glass of milk. Stuart and I made stovies once, and since it’s very easy, I’m sure everyone can do that too. Check the recipe here, here, or here.

Now, if I decide to go for this céilidh, I must find suitable gown this time! Hmm… another reason for shopping?

Haggis picture is borrowed from Freefoto.

Binge drinking is a big problem in the UK. BBC reported that

Britain’s binge drinking culture is costing the country £20 billion a year, according to a government report. The study by the Prime Minister’s Strategy Unit shows 17 million working days are lost to hangovers and drink-related illness each year.
The annual cost to employers is estimated to be £6.4 billion while the cost to the NHS is in the region of £1.7bn. Billions more are spent clearing up alcohol-related crime and social problems.
In addition, alcohol-related problems are responsible for 22,000 premature deaths each year.

What about in Indonesia?

I have tried to find relevant articles regarding this issue but couldn’t find any. From the surface binge drinking is not a problem in Indonesia. Maybe because, first, most of Indonesians are Moslem and alcohol is not allowed (haram), and its distribution, even its content in food, is tightly (*cough) monitored by the government. Secondly although there are local, cheap brands, most of the alcohol drinks are expensive, and only are available in restaurants or cellars with licenses, which are not many. Most supermarkets only sell beer, if that. If you go outside big cities in Indonesia, alcohol is almost nonexistent. With the exception of several ethnic groups, most Indonesians do not have drinking culture, (although we have traditional alcoholic drink called tuak).

So how much is too much?

The NHS recommends that you should not regularly drink more than:

• 3-4 units of alcohol a day for men,
• 2-3 units of alcohol per day for women.

The best way to keep track of your units is to use the information on this page. Then you can easily keep count and make informed choices when you’re out drinking.

Website like Drinkaware gives hints and tips to enjoy a big night out. So enjoy your night out. Just make sure you are aware of how much you drink.

It’s been a long time since I bitched about Scottish weather. Not because I’ve had settled here nicely and developed thick skin to bear the cold. Not because I have had run away, back to sunny Indonesia, for almost 2 months so I missed the most miserable weather. But seriously, because since I’ve got back here in Aberdeen, the weather is nice.

Oh well, let’s see whether I’d survive this time!

Being 12,000 km away from Indonesia, I received the news of Suharto’s at least 8 hours later. Yesterday, as Stuart directly went to sports channel, I went blogwalking and found out that the former Indonesian president died. I immediately sent texts to several friends asking how the situation in Indonesia after the news is spread out. I was thinking it would have created chaos, that people would have started demanding justice, to bring Suharto’s children to trial. But no, I’ve heard my beloved country is officially in a state of mourning for 7 days.

Having read John Orford’s question whether Indonesians give respect too easily, I continued my blogwalking, and I’ve found so many (Indonesian) bloggers post about Suharto. I was amazed (and confused?) to read that most of them forgive Suharto and pray for him.

Martin Manurung showed interesting differences of headlines on the Indonesian newspapers vs. other international press.

clipped from www.martinmanurung.com

Indonesian Media	International Media
Kompas: Warisan Soeharto (Suharto’s legacy) Metro TV: Selamat Jalan Pak Harto (Good bye, Pak Harto) Media Indonesia: Pak Harto Berpulang (Pak Harto Dies)	AP: Ex-Indonesian Dictator Suharto Dies The Independent: Suharto, tyrant of Indonesia, dies without facing justice The Canadian Press: Disgraced and vilified, Indonesia’s ex-dictator Suharto dies aged 86 CNN: Suharto was charming, but lethal, NPR: Longtime Indonesian Strongman Suharto Dies at 86

Wimar Witolear’s Perspektif Online posted few articles, and the most interesting is on its Soundbytes, as below:

clipped from www.perspektif.net

Nobody has the right to forgive Suharto except his victims.

The families of the hundreds of thousands of people whos lives he took, the millions of people living in poverty because of the billions of dollars he took for his family and cronies.

27 January 2008

But the rest of the nation seem very forgiving and all pay respect to the ex-leader of Indonesian who ruled the country for 32 years.

Read what they say (in Indonesian):
Herman Saksono
M Fahmia
Menteri Desain Indonesia
Nurudin Jauhari
Progo Harbowo
Djunaedi
Avicena-Raihan
Susilo
Wijaya
Curious Zone

Read what they say in English:
Fatih Suyud
Cafe Salemba
Unspun
Jakartass
Woolly Days
Larvatus Prodeo
Toxic Culture
Trancepass

So what is going to happen now in Indonesia?
——————————————————-

Update on 28 January 2008:
Click on Indonesia Matters to read the informal poll - initiated by Achmad Sudarsono - about what people really think about Suharto.

I‘m starting to get some more detailed ideas about the Indonesian Expatriates Forum that I initiated a week a go. Please take a look, and if you have any suggestion, don’t hesitate to let me know, whether through this blog or to my email (finallywoken.blog@gmail.com).

As an amateur in the virtual world, I dream big, so big that some of my friends think that it’s impossible to do. A single person, initiates a forum to connect all Indonesians around the world? Am I mental?

But actually my idea and dream is very simple, and it only takes a willingness to get there. There is no money involved, there is no deadline or time line that I have to obey, there is no failure possibility, there is no feasible risk at stake, so why can’t we do it? Look at Expatwomen website, it is initiated by two women. Two. And look at the website now, you’d be surprised that they actually have started it a year a go. (You see, this is a different attitude of Indonesians vs. Westerners, that we are usually so pessimistic about everything, even we are taught to be ashamed of our own success, while Westerners generally have positive attitude, always say that everything is possible and achievable, and they put trust on other people. But more about that later).

At the moment only myself and Andie who commit to be contributors, although we haven’t discuss thoroughly what we have to do each, but at least we are getting somewhere.

I also need big help from all Indonesians from all around to world to keep spreading news and information about this forum and to keep me informed about Indonesians living overseas.

One step at a time. I’ll see you there…

We’re back in Aberdeen after 6-weeks holiday in Indonesia and Vietnam. The prospect of going back to cold, gray, wet weather wasn’t really appealing; especially when we were transiting in Amsterdam and saw outside the window of Schiphol Airport. But surprise, surprise, last weekend wasn’t actually that bad. The sun was shining, the sky was clear and blue, except there were no birds were chirping (they must have migrated to warmer lands), and there are no leaves left on trees. And it’s very cold.

clipped from en.wikipedia.org

A Burns supper is a celebration of the life and poetry of the poet Robert Burns, author of many Scots poems including “Auld Lang Syne,” which is generally sung as a folk song at Hogmanay and other New Year celebrations around the world. The suppers are normally held on or near the poet’s birthday, January 25, sometimes known as Burns night, although they may in principle be held at any time of the year.

Burns suppers are most common in Scotland, but they occur wherever there are Burns clubs, Scottish Societies, expatriate Scots, or lovers of Burns’ poetry.

The first suppers were held in Ayrshire at the end of the 18th century by his friends on the anniversary of his death, July 21, In Memoriam and, although the date has changed to 25 January since then, they have been a regular occurrence ever since.

Stuart’s grandmother is going to Burns Supper in Sauchen this coming Saturday and invites us to come along. To give me more ideas, Stuart’s father showed me the menu example, which is written in Doric, and translated it for me. I forgot the whole thing after 30 seconds, except that every course ends with… what else, whisky!

The tradition has been part of Scottish culture for about 200 years (do you notice the sample menu is taken from 1920?). The basic format of the evening has remained unchanged since 1796, and it always has haggis, Scotch whisky, poem readings, and musicians performing Robert Burns songs.

Interesting. Now, how can I wear my skimpy ball gown without suffering from frostbites?

Hello everyone,

I just start creating a forum dedicated to all Indonesians living abroad. This forum, called Indonesian Expatriates Forum, is developed based on my personal experience.

When I moved to Scotland over 6 months a go, I was not well informed about the city’s what, who, where, when, and how. I had (still have) to work hard to find my own surroundings, build my own network, and find new friends. Yes, I start meeting new people and have found that there are at least 100 Indonesians living in Aberdeen. But this effort took months and I could say that I’ve found Indonesian fellows by accidents.

Feeling how hard it was to start a new life here in a foreign city with no one to turn to, I have tried to find Indonesian Expatriates Association, anywhere in the world, but couldn’t find any. There are several organizations dedicated to mixed-marriage couples, most of them are based in Indonesia, and mostly their mission is to share information and overcome any issues about the mix Indonesian and non-Indonesian marriage. There are many student associations, work’s outpost communities, and religious communities, but of course the membership would be solely, exclusively to their fellow friends.

Therefore I decided to start one. And I need help, big time, for all Indonesians living abroad. I’m looking for contributors, those who, together with me, would and could develop a comprehensive website which features all necessary information needed for Indonesian who live (or about to live) overseas.

So if you:

1. are Indonesian
2. are currently living in a foreign country, or have lived in one
3. are student, partner, parent, volunteer, professional or simply are free spirit or traveler
4. have similar forums, communities, or associations
5. are keen to share your experience, have a lot of information regarding your city or country
6. love to write and love to help other fellow Indonesians

Please email me at finallywoken.blog@gmail.com for sharing more details. Mind you the blog has just been created today, so there is nothing there, yet. English is chosen as the main language for a greater exposure, and if your partner is non-Indonesian, s/he could contribute as well!

For those of you who could give me suggestions or informations about Indonesians living abroad, please don’t hesitate to contact me at above email.

Wish me luck and see you at Indonesian Expat Forum!

—————————————————————–
Update, 20 January 2008

• Andie Summerkiss from Medan, Indonesia (soon will move to the Philippines), agree to contribute
• Anyone else?

Have you ever been in the situation where you were so mad you did something silly that hurt you back? It happened to me last Saturday in Saigon, which generated tantrum injury term from Stuart. Here’s the story.

After wandering around Ben Thanh Market in a hot, humid temperature to buy oleh-oleh, we ended up in New World Hotel for a drink. After a tiring, serious, deep conversation about conquering the fridge magnet world, where two of the guys were determined to penetrate and be successful entrepreneurs, we decided to go for a massage on the place next door called Le Lai. I insisted very hard that I did not want a naughty massage, so one of the guys went there first to make sure that it is a descent, respectable place. He came back with a good news that it is indeed a nice place, and ladies get 30% discount. Great, let’s go! So 4 guys and I went to Le Lai to have a full body massage. The receptionist gave a locker key to each one of us, and explained that guys will get sauna treatment, but I won’t. I started to feel annoyed, because it means this place is meant for guys generally, since they don’t provide a separate sauna for ladies. But that’s ok, as long as I got the massage with 30% discount. The guys then were directed to a door and I was directed to a different door right next to it.

Then my unpleasant journey began.

The lady took me through a narrow corridor which ended in a small bar. The bar was quiet but not empty, there were several Japanese guests who were drinking and watching sport from a big screen TV. The light was dim, with several gambling machines scattered around. I started feeling uneasy, feeling like I was in the wrong place. My idea about spa, or experience in that matter, is incense smells all around the room, chill-out music at the background, candles everywhere, Zen-like vegetation arrangement, a sound of flowing water, staffs who are brisk, quiet but efficient, and herbal or ginger tea served before or after the session. Everything but a bar with a dim light, big screen TV and gambling machines!

The lady kept walking across the bar, then opened the bar counter door and let me in. I was confused and a little bit panicking. Did she think I was applying for a barmaid position? But she didn’t stop there. A door at the back of the bar area was pushed open and I was gently led inside to…. the kitchen! There was a lady sitting on a stool peeling something off who did not even look when we walked in. Contrary to the depressing feeling at the bar, the kitchen was bright white and looked more like a hospital. I looked at the lady who took me, I wanted to ask why she was taking me here, I was afraid that I was being kidnapped or something, but she kept smiling and nodding and opened another small door next to the huge fridge and indicated with hand gesture that I had to get in.

We ended up in another narrow corridor with maroon carpet and wood paneling. She turned left at the end of the corridor and I found myself in a massage area.

Except that it’s full of Japanese guys with pink bath robes, having their feet massaged. Most of them were asleep, some of them opened their eyes when I entered the room and stared at my breasts (I was wearing a very low cut top). I felt more and more uneasy. Is this really a nice, descent place? I didn’t see any lady guests…

The lady politely asked me to sit down on an empty chair and vanished behind the reception desk. A guy appeared with a wooden basket filled with water, put it down next to me and indicated with his hands to have my feet put inside the basket. I started to protest, that I wanted to have a full body massage, that I didn’t request a feet massage. He looked at me helplessly, then shouted something at the lady behind the counter who came to me in an instant.

I told her that I signed up for a full body massage. But from her broken English I gathered that she offered me a feet massage because I didn’t get sauna treatment like the other boys. After this I could go to have a full body massage as promised. I thought that this offer was generously weird but well, I wouldn’t turn it down anyway. I had my feet massaged for about 45 minutes when the chair next to me (which had been empty) was occupied by (another) Japanese with a pink bath robe. Only that he had his nails done (seriously, manicure!). And the lady who did his nail brought a standing lamp along, switch the bloody thing on, and had my eye blinded by the light. Also it made the Japanese guy aware of my presence so he stared at my breasts intensely and ignored his nails altogether….

I was more and more feeling uneasy and annoyed, so I was glad when my masseur told me he was done. After signing off, the first lady who took me through a strange pathway, took me back to the front desk (of course, through the door next to the fridge in the kitchen, another door behind the bar, over the bar counter, and appeared on the lobby magically). Hold on. Why did she bring me back to the lobby?

The receptionist asked if I want to pay together with the guys or separately.

I was stunned.

I thought I will have my body massage?

The receptionist looked confused and tried to explain that I wanted feet massage. I shook my head, no, no, I wanted a full body massage! I pointed my finger at the promotion on the counter, that was that I want. But the receptionist insisted I wanted a feet massage.

I tried hard to explain to her that I was brought to a room for feet massage, which I didn’t request in the first place, and was told that I could have my feet done while waiting for the guys doing the sauna, then I would have my body massaged afterwards. The lady looked more confused, called the other lady who appeared in 2 seconds but suddenly suffered an amnesia and told me that I chose to have my feet done when she offered both feet or body massage.

I was getting more mad, and asked if I could have my body massage as promised. They said it could be done, it would take another hour to do, I had to pay another 180,000 dong, but the guys will be off in 5 minutes. Unbelievable. After 5 minutes trying to explain I didn’t get what I wanted, I gave up, there was no need to argue more and I’d pay.

The receptionist produced a bill, and instead of getting 30% discount as promised on the promotion board on the desk, I was charged 45% more (10% VAT, 5% service charge, and 30% something else). By this time I was already lost my patience and demanded to know why I didn’t get 30% discount. They said 30% discount was for full body massage. So I went back saying that that was the session I wanted, I never wanted a feet massage since the beginning, and now I was charged full price too? And what the hell is 30% SP charge? And where is my discount?

We went back and forth saying the same things, until I realize there was no point of arguing or trying to explain or clear things up. It’s either they were sneaky, stupid, or combination of both. I slammed the promotion board and stormed off.

I was more annoyed when I met those 4 guys, looking fresh, relaxed and happy, saying how good the sauna and the massage were. Back to the hotel room, still full of anger, I jumped on the bed, grunting, hitting the bed with both fists, but this time I lost.

The bed was hard enough and it bounced me back on the floor. With my bum first. And as I tried to avoid to have an intimate contact with the chair next to the bed, I felt a sudden pain on the left side of the neck. It hurt as hell and I stayed on the position for a several seconds. And when I got up, slowly, embarrassingly, caressing my bruised bum, I realized that now I had a neck strain.

That’s when Stuart, who stood half meter away, grinned widely, said that I just had a tantrum injury. No sympathy for me, of course.

So much for trying to achieve a total relaxation. I had to get down to our hotel’s spa center to get a full body massage, to have my neck relaxed a bit, and to calm myself down.

I‘ve learned several things from this experience:

1. Never try to get a massage in Le Lai, Saigon.
2. Never, never, never trust a Vietnamese lady with big smile and broken English. Write down what you want and have it agreed before you are rushed to a different room. Otherwise you are screwed.
3. Never trust a massage or spa center which leads you through a back door of the bar. Or kitchen. When it looks and feels dodgy, it probably is.
4. Never stay in a room with Japanese guys with pink bath robes.
5. Never show your tantrum in front of others
6. As above, especially when your tantrum results in neck injury…..
7. Most importantly, be patience…!

Do you remember my lengthy post about being Indonesian and how I feel that as an Indonesian we are treated lousy by the rest of the world? (click here to read my old posting). Well, the ‘belief’ sticks in my head strongly, and I saw some more proof the other day that confirmed me to my own core.

We know that Bugil’s Group’s Football Team will play in Saigon this upcoming weekend. Since the beginning we had been toying with the idea of going with them (me being the cheerleader, and Stuart being the player - sort of). But we realize that Stuart will need a visa, and my travel agent said that it would take 5 working days to proceed, and its fee, combined with the total cost we had to spend for the trip, made us decided not to go.

Until last Saturday, when suddenly Stuart decided just to go, since he’d feel lonely without his boyfriends. But as a Briton, he needs a visa to enter the country. Usually someone took care of it for him, but since he’s no longer working for the company he’s gotta do it himself. Being Indonesian, this is the first time I smugly feel superior, since I don’t need a visa. I only need to hop on a plane and go to Saigon. My travel agent insisted that she couldn’t help me with Stuart’s, so Stuart and I tried our own luck by going to the Vietnamese Embassy in person. We had only one day to go.

We got there at the wrong time. It’s 3.00 PM, time for collecting, not for applying. No one was behind the counter, and the place was complete deserted. We were about to give up with the idea of tasting the original Pho Bo another time, when suddenly a Vietnamese guy showed up.

He was smiling and absolutely friendly. Which was bizarre, since my experience with other embassies were never as pleasant as this. Embassy staffs are usually as gloomy as the hospital staffs, like they all suffer hemorrhoids or are thinking about dividing 200 from 13. Stuart asked whether he still had enough time to have his visa processed, and the guy just smiled and handed him over a single paper to be filled in. When Stuart was busy answering the questions on the paper, the guy casually said that application time is closed since 11.30. But since we turned up in person, he’d help us anyway. We kept saying thank you and sorry nervously, waiting for some uncomfortable surprise to turn up (that, for example, he was the gardener and not the staff, or that we could bugger off and how dare us to turn up at the ‘collecting time’ to apply the visa, and so on).

But no, no surprise. After returning the paper, hand his passport over, the guy said that Stuart must come back tomorrow to collect his passport and/or visa.

That’s it?

That’s it.

We went out of the Vietnamese Embassy, were still dizzy of the whole 10 minutes experience, still couldn’t believe that tomorrow Stuart would get his visa.

It can’t be that easy. It shouldn’t be this easy. This wasn’t real.

Our travel agent was as nervous as we were and she wouldn’t issue the ticket until Stuart’s passport and visa are on hand. But with only one day to play around, we had to confirm everything. So in between the chaotic traffic jam and hot humid temperature, we decided to go head with everything. At 11.00 AM, all tickets were issued. But we must wait until 3.00 PM to collect Stuart’s visa.

Bur Stuart’s got his visa, as promised. No, the guy was definitely not the gardener who’s taking a piss out of us. And wow, everything done in one day?

We were so impressed with Vietnamese Embassy. And although they spell Stuart’s name as Stung on the receipt, and he is Britist, not British, we’re still happy. The whole thing have made us happy. Although it leaves one permanent questions unanswered: Is because Stuart is British? What happens if Indonesian needs a visa, can we have it in one day?

Anyway, off to Saigon, tomorrow. Finally. Back to original Pho Bo. Let’s see if this time I have the courage to enter Cu Chi Tunnel this time…

It’s Monday night. I find myself sitting in a big table in Cazbar, drinking glasses of good red wine, listening to the good music (although there was one time I raised my eyebrows when they played Wham!’s Wake Me Up Before You Go Go - and was surprised that nobody protested, not even Jasper, the cute bar manager who was sitting next to the player). Stuart was sitting with Jasper, leaving me alone in peace doing my blogs (yes, I have more than one!). Which is perfect because Cazbar provides fast and free wi-fi, and the dial-up internet in my apartment really makes me want to chew my jeweled sandals. They’re waiting for Pasky to turn up; and Stuart has started a rumour about him being a Singaporean James Bond. It’s yet to be proven, but having known him for a few years, and no one could really tell what he does for a living, it might be true….

It’s our first quiet night. My weekend started in Surabaya last Friday when my father knocked on my door at 5.30 AM, and I landed in Jakarta at 10.00 AM, had lunch with my ex-colleagues (who now are scattered in three different companies which compete against each other, but our friendship never ends), was being nosy by visiting Provis‘ new office in Indonesia Stock Exchange Building and met my ex-bosses and ex-colleagues, told them I felt like I was back home, listened to the British CEO commented about Scotland and being Scottish (read again: he’s British. Cute though, but still British). The Friday night started in Coffee Club, then Red Square, and ended in X2. Picked Stuart up from the airport the next day, and after a couple of hours of rest, we went to Cazbar and finished after 3 AM. Sunday was at Ritz-Carlton for brunch with free flow champagne which then continued at Eastern Promise. In short, I started my weekend on Friday at 5.30 AM and finished it on Sunday at 10.00 AM.

What’s my point of telling you all of these?

That this is exactly why we miss Indonesia. Shopping malls which open until late, taxis which are easy to hailed on every corner of the road, bars which keep serving drinking until the last drops, barmaids who pose for sexy calendars (*cough) and friendly (*double cough), cheap Sunday brunch, sunny weather, busy bars and nightclubs everywhere which are still buzzing after 2.00PM on Monday nights….

Yes, from the surface, everything is exactly the same. But the only constant is change. Since the beginning I have noticed that a) life goes on and b) hence my friends’ priority has shifted. Before long I’ve realized that either my friends are getting busier and it’s difficult to incorporate me back in their lives, or I don’t matter as much as I do to them as I used to. Or they’re just lousy at committing to personal schedules.

How could I foolishly think that when I arrive they will set their schedules clear for me for the whole 2 weeks and ready to meet whenever I want to? Since I have arrived, we haven’t gathered in a complete form; there’s always one or two who couldn’t make it. It was quite hard to take since last Friday (two rejected since they’re ‘having other plans with other friends’), and then last Saturday, when (I thought) everyone would have gathered to celebrate ‘me coming home‘ and give me ‘the late birthday present’, andI ended up celebrating it by having text messages canceling the lunch (which I didn’t initiate in the first place and the one who did, actually the first person who canceled), up to the point I had my limit and canceled it altogether. I have a big event coming in next August, and one of my friends says that she might go to another country for another wedding. She didn’t turn up on mine last August.

But then I realize, time doesn’t stand still. Life goes on. Everyone’s moved on.

It’s been 6 months that I have been hanging on to what I have had here in Indonesia, while in fact I’m already physically not here. Despite always have managed to get brand new gossips about everything (sometimes I was the first to know!), I am not in Indonesia anymore. Everything has changed. Everybody has changed. People make new friends. People have new lives. I don’t know whether my friendships with my friends are different from Stuart’s (Pasky arrived from Singapore, went home, had shower, then met him after 10 PM, but he made the effort to see Stuart), and I’m starting to wonder…

In between this posting and my glasses of red wine, I was chatting to an old virtual friend who happens to be a son of Indonesia’s Minister. And both of us agree that time will prove who our (real) friends are. There will be people in our lives, but only a handful will stick around. No matter who we are, what we are, and where we are.

And when you have those people, just hang on to them. You’d rarely find someone like them. Those who care. Those who show they care. Those who appreciate when you care and return them.

“False friends aren’t always that bad because it shows you about yourself and teaches you to be strong and life goes on.” - Josh Wojo

“Friendship is always a sweet responsibility, never an opportunity.” - Kahil Gibran

“You never lose by loving. You always lose by holding back.” -Barbara DeAngelis

“Life is partly what we make it, and partly what is made by the friends whom we choose.” - Tehyi Hsieh

“Friends are born, not made.” - Henry Adams

Related post: I’m Too Busy For You

Second day of 2008, I woke up at 7.30 to hear the news about a person we know died this morning. He committed suicide at dawn.

It was a difficult to comprehend. Hard to swallow. Not only because the deceased was known to be a very cool, calm, polite person who was in the best shape of his age. But also because no one believed he could take such an extreme way to solve whatever problem(s) he was facing. Since there was no signs shown, no obvious clue, and on the surface everything was great (marriage, kids, financial, health, work, etc), there were so many theories flying around, trying to answer the “Whys“. The family was left in a state of shock, grief, anger, and guilt, with so many “what ifs” and “what have I done“. Especially because when the decision was made, there was only 1 hour window to make it happen.

Life is weird. Strange. Funny. We never know what is ahead us. We never know what is inside us….

Later today I stumbled upon a good posting and think it’s worth to quote:

A Message by George Carlin:

The paradox of our time in history is that we have taller buildings but shorter tempers, wider Freeways, but narrower viewpoints. We spend more, but have less, we buy more, but enjoy less. We have bigger houses and smaller families, more conveniences, but less time. We have more degrees but less sense, more knowledge, but less judgment, more experts, yet more problems, more medicine, but less wellness.

We drink too much, smoke too much, spend too recklessly, laugh too little, drive too fast, get too angry, stay up too late, get up too tired, read too little, watch TV too much, and pray too seldom.

We have multiplied our possessions, but reduced our values. We talk too much, love too seldom, and hate too often.

We’ve learned how to make a living, but not a life. We’ve added years to life not life to years. We’ve been all the way to the moon and back, but have trouble crossing the street to meet a new neighbor. We conquered outer space but not inner space. We’ve done larger things, but not better things.

We’ve cleaned up the air, but polluted the soul. We’ve conquered the atom, but not our prejudice. We write more, but learn less. We plan more, but accomplish less. We’ve learned to rush, but not to wait. We build more computers to hold more information, to produce more copies than ever, but we communicate less and less.

These are the times of fast foods and slow digestion, big men and small character, steep profits and shallow relationships. These are the days of two incomes but more divorce, fancier houses, but broken homes. These are days of quick trips, disposable diapers, throwaway morality, one night stands, overweight bodies, and pills that do everything from cheer, to quiet, to kill. It is a time when there is much in the showroom window and nothing in the stockroom. A time when technology can bring this letter to you, and a time when you can choose either to share this insight, or to just hit delete…

Remember; spend some time with your loved ones, because they are not going to be around forever.

Remember, say a kind word to someone who looks up to you in awe, because that little person soon will grow up and leave your side.

Remember, to give a warm hug to the one next to you, because that is the only treasure you can give with your heart and it doesn’t cost a cent.

Remember, to say, “I love you” to your partner and your loved ones, but most of all mean it. A kiss and an embrace will mend hurt when it comes from deep inside of you.

Remember to hold hands and cherish the moment for someday that person will not be there again.

Give time to love, give time to speak! And give time to share the precious thoughts in your mind.

AND ALWAYS REMEMBER:

Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away.

George Carlin